“Fuck it,” she whispers, taking the shot, and reaching for her bag, ripping the envelope open.
Brooke’s handwriting spills out in soft, looping strokes, and Valeria’s vision blurs instantly. The bourbon curdles in her stomach, and she can feel it trying to climb its way back up.
She looks at Camila.
“You’re strong, and you can stop at any point,” Camila reminds her.
With that last bit of reassurance, Valeriaunfolds the pages.
I’ve rewritten this letter so many times, and each time I don’t know where to begin, so I’ll start by saying that I love you. God, I love you more than I ever expected to love anyone, and that’s why this feels like I’m tearing off my own skin, but loving you hasn’t magically made me into the person you need ... or the person I hoped I could be for you.
The truth is, I’m not strong enough to sit across from you and say what I need to out loud. I know your beautiful face too well. I’ve learned every expression you make when something hurts you, even when you’re trying not to show it, and I know that if I tried to tell you in person, I’d crumble. I’d take it all back to stop the hurt from showing in your eyes. So this letter is cowardly, but it’s the only way I can follow through.
I’ve been going to therapy for months now. I didn’t tell you, not because you didn’t deserve to know, but because I kept hoping I could fix myself in the background, and still show up for you the way you deserved. My therapist suggested a while ago that I step back, but I ignored her. I thought I could heal and love you at the same time. Now I realize that I can’t. What happened a fewdays ago was not okay. I know that, and you had every reason to leave me.
To me, you were safety, warmth, and hope. I wasn’t, and I see that now. I am not steady. Keeping you while I’m like this would only drag you down with me, drag you further down with me, I should say, because I know I’ve caused you so much pain.
I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for not being better. I’ve spent so long pretending I was enough for you, pretending I could be the partner you deserved, when deep down I knew I wasn’t. You gave me patience, kindness, a version of love I had never had before, and I gave you ... the parts of me I hadn’t bothered to fix. The parts that kept hurting you without meaning to. The parts I kept swearing I’d work on “soon.”
You were too good to be dragged through my mess, and I let you anyway. I’m sorry it took me this long to see how much damage my untreated trauma has caused.
Thank you for loving me the way you did, even when I didn’t deserve it. I will love you in this life and the next.
- B
“How dare she?” Valeria whispers as a single teartraces a path down her cheek, blurring the ink, she quickly wipes it away.
Camila sits beside her, her hand moving in slow, steady circles across Valeria’s back. A sob slips out of Valeria’s lips as she thinks of all the pain and sadness over these last few years, and anger settles in. Brooke’s apology, her going to therapy, and her acknowledging the pain she caused is late, it’s all so fucking late. Valeria’s jaw clenches, and the muscles in her neck tighten as the pounding in her ears grows louder.
“What does it say?”
Valeria hands Camila the letter, but Camila doesn’t read it. Instead, she sets it carefully on the coffee table, as if she’s letting Valeria decide what to share.
“She’s telling me how she’s been going to therapy, and she never deserved me,” Valeria says. “Apologizing for not being better.” She cracks each one of her fingers, a restless habit, trying to shake the tension from her body.
“Maybe it’s her way of still having some control over the situation.” Camila keeps her voice soft. “Do you think this is her trying to set the stage to get you back? Give you some hope that therapy will help her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” Valeria says, her head down, rubbing her eyes until she sees flashes of color.
Camila leans forward slightly, but not crowding her “How does the letter make you feel?”
“Angry. Sad.”
Camila nods slowly. “That makes sense.” She draws a breath to speak, but doesn’t. A few seconds later, she asks, “What happened? What made you break up with her?”
“I don’t know,” Valeria says quietly. “The girls have asked so many times, and every time I come up empty.” She stares into herglass, hoping the answer will magically appear. “Most of that night is ... gone, as if someone wiped it clean. All I remember is overwhelming fear. Next thing I knew, Brooke was yelling that I’d regret it.” Her throat tightens. “Then she was walking out the door.”
Camila doesn’t rush her. She lets the silence settle before gently asking, “And the bruises?”
Valeria brings a hand up to her chin, fingertips grazing the faint marks there. She turns her head, suddenly embarrassed Camila can see them.
“I didn’t realize they were there,” she admits. “Alejandra pointed them out. Brooke did grab my face, but I thought I was just sore.”
Camila exhales sharply. “Fuck, Val. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Valeria shakes her head, a bitter half-smile tugging at her lips. “It’s not the first time, plus I let it happen.” Her voice drops. “It’s my fault.”
Camila’s expression hardens. “No. Absolutely not.” She leans forward, her voice firm but calm as she takes both of Valeria’s hands in hers. “Her hurting you isnotyour fault. Ever. No one has the right to put their hands on you. Not once. Not ever.”
